


Untitled Merlock fic (I'll think of one later)

by SuperLockBabe25



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Merlock, Merman John, Minor Violence, Sexual Content, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperLockBabe25/pseuds/SuperLockBabe25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fun merlock RP session with Myran Furst that we decided to turn into a proper fic. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as we did writing it c:</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing as John, Myran is playing as Sherlock. I've added a few edits here and there as necessary to make it fit into more of a proper fic.
> 
> I also do paid commissions for fanfics, so if you have a story you'd like to commission from me, just message me here or by email:
> 
> MistressSapphira25@gmail.com

Finally, today was perfect. Sherlock was out of the flat on a case, one that he wouldn’t need John for, Sherlock could handle himself. He cherished days like this, the days when he could relax and let himself free. There was a side of John that even Sherlock wasn’t aware of, something he kept secret from everyone. He wasn’t exactly…human. And thankfully, Sherlock hadn’t deduced his secret yet. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust his friend, but he couldn’t take any chances. And besides, the last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to try running experiments on him.  
But he put all of that out of his mind for now, opening the bathroom door and entering with towels and the salt container, setting them on the sink counter. He turned on the taps and ran a nice bath, smiling and sighing happily. When the tub was filled, he shut the water off and undressed, then stepped into the tub, sitting one the edge, and grabbed the salt. Ahh, this was going to be so nice, he thought to himself as the skin of his lower half became covered in shiny, golden scales. He took the salt and poured it liberally around into the water. Satisfied with the amount, he set the salt aside and maneuvered himself into the tub fully. He closed his eyes and hummed in sweet relief, running his hands up and down his arms, wetting his skin as his large fluke fin unfurled and flopped onto the edge of the tub. Oh, yes! It felt so good to unwind and let himself go, feel the salt soaking into his scales, gills forming where his neck and shoulder met and fluttering. This was why he greatly anticipated days when he had the flat to himself. He just chilled in the not too warm, not to cold water and relaxed. Sherlock wouldn’t be home for hours yet…

\---

Sherlock sighed and crumpled the map. It was days like this that he needed John, to calm him down and to keep him from being overwhelmed by information. He'd been in Bristol for three days now, case closed, but now he needed to get home and he wasn't sure if he'd boarded the right train or not. Sighing again, the brunette closed his eyes and tried to focus on the rumbling of the train. 'Damaged tracks, probably from the thunderstorm that passed this way two days ago, broken wheel in the front-' Sherlock groaned at the sensory overload and tried to think of other things. 

John. John always calmed him for some reason. Lately, the doctor had been acting strangely, always finding an excuse to have the flat to himself. Sherlock originally thought that John had a lover that he didn't want the detective to know about, but that wasn't it. Maybe he'd ask when he got home...

The train screeched to a stop at the station, jolting Sherlock awake. 'Funny.', he thought, 'Never fallen asleep on a train before.'. He walked out of the booth with a little less grace than usual and grabbed his luggage. The London fog clouded the platform and he breathed it in deeply, smiling. 

"Home.", he mused aloud.

Sticking out an arm to hail a cab, the lanky detective gave his address to the driver and texting John that he was on his way home. He planned on asking the blogger what had driven him to want to be alone more often than before.

\---

John had entered the bathroom and sunk into a relaxing bath without his phone, so he never received the text from Sherlock about his premature return. And so he continued to bathe, washing his scales with the refreshing simulation salt water, and just having a nice soak. He slipped under the water and submerged himself for a few minutes, breathing with his gills like he was meant to, and the resurfaced to pull his fluke into the bath to wash his large fluke, grinning happily.

\---

Sherlock unlocked the door to the flat and began climbing the seventeen steps to his home when he heard sloshing upstairs. "John?" he called, quickening his pace, a frightening thought of John being drowned crossing his mind.

\---

John suddenly froze when he thought he heard someone coming up the stairs, hoping it was nothing, but then heard the voice of his flatmate calling his name. He panicked, remembering too late that he'd forgotten to lock the bathroom door. He cursed under his breath, struggling to get out of the tub as he yelled, "Don't come in here!".

Sherlock's pace slowed when he heard it was just John. "Are you alright, John?" he asked, opening the door to his home. He avoided the bathroom as ordered, but kept his guard up in case something happened. "You've seemed a little secretive lately." He wanted to know what was going on with John. He was-dare he say- concerned.

"What? Secretive? I don't know what you mean.", John called through the door as he crawled out, but slipped up and landed on the bathroom floor with a loud thud. 

Sherlock muttered a curse and opened the door to the bathroom, despite John's wishes. What he saw astounded him: a glittering, golden tail that soon vanished and transformed into John's tan legs. The brunette held out a towel to John and moved to help his friend stand.

John couldn't get to the door in time, and panicked when it swung open and Sherlock stood there, staring. As his tail transformed back into human legs, John looked away, not ready to meet the detective's eyes. When Sherlock offered him a towel, John accepted it, as well as the hand that helped him to his feet. He wrapped the towel around his waist and then emptied the tub. Still not looking at Sherlock, he brushed past him and out the door. "Get a good enough look, did you?", he growled.

"At?" Sherlock asked, trying to lighten the awkward mood. "Your tail? I guess." The detective plopped onto the couch with a heavy thud. "Tea, please?" Sherlock steepled his fingers beneath his chin and closed his eyes. It all made sense now, the secrecy, the avoidance, the long near-hours the blogger spent in the bathroom. But why hide it? Why indeed...

John laughed incredulously. "Figures. You just made a mind blowing discovery /and/ found out your best friend has been keeping secrets from you, and you simply ask for tea like nothing happened. Like you didn't just see..that.". He sighed as he made the tea anyway.

"I did see it, but seeing as it's an obvious nerve, I won't mention it." Sherlock pointed out. "We all have secrets, John." Sherlock went back to his thoughts, piecing together this new puzzle.

John sighed and leaned against the counter as the tea brewed. "It's not really a nerve, Sherlock. That makes it sound like I'm ashamed. I'm not ashamed of who I am.". He turned around to face his flatemate, "I'm just, well..", he rubbed a hand over his face, "People can't know about me. About my kind. You know how humans typically act towards...strange and unusual things. They would be frightened, they'd wanna lock me up for study, or put me on display in a bloody zoo!". He took a few breaths to calm himself down. "By the way, why aren't you asking me a million questions right now?".

"Like I said, John," Sherlock answered, not opening his eyes. "It's obviously a sore subject. I won't bother you with a bunch of questions. I trust you'll tell me when you're ready.". That and the fact that he might have feelings for John...

Once the tea was ready, John fixed both their cups and carried them into the sitting room. He sat next to Sherlock on the sofa, setting their cups down on the coffee table. After a bit of silence, John finally spoke again. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But as I said, I just can't be too careful.". He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair. "It's fine, Sherlock. If you have questions, go ahead and ask.", he looked at the detective and flashed a smile.

Sherlock opened one eye and then closed it again. "Did you mop up the spilled water in the bathroom?" he asked quietly with a smile. He opened his eyes and sat up to drink his tea. "But in all seriousness, how long have you been hiding this secret? I mean, I've met your sister, your parents. Are they like you?" Sherlock sighed, inwardly chuckling at the fact he'd never used the word until now. "Merpeople?".

When Sherlock asked about the water mess in the bathroom, John shot him a glare, but it quickly dissipated when he saw the smirk on the detective's face. "Well, my family isn't my real family. I was adopted. My parents actually found me as a baby, abandoned it seemed, though I found out later that my real mother - a mermaid - had died trying to save me. She'd hidden me somewhere safe while she led away some sailors that..I guess were looking to make a name for themselves by capturing a real mer. Thankfully when the Watsons found me, they didn't seem to care that this little baby was half fish, they just saw a helpless infant that needed a mum and dad.". He picked up his cup and took a long sip. 

Sherlock hummed and sipped his tea. "So," he tried. "Fish is out of the question for dinner, I guess?" He drained the rest of his tea and closed his eyes, trying to wrap his head around the fact his best friend was a mermaid, er, merman, erm, merperson? "How do you say it?" he asked, finally frustrated. "Mermaid, merman, or merperson?".

John huffed in amusement. "Fish eat other fish all the time, Sherlock. I was always quite fond of salmon and Pollock, myself.". He chuckled at the detective's uncertainty. "Merman. If you're speaking generally, then merfolk, or just mer.".

Sherlock nodded quietly. No closure there. "So..." he began, but never finished. "I'm going to bed. I've had a, well, exciting day, and I'm tired." Standing up, he padded to his room, saying, "See you when I wake up.".

John frowned and looked up at Sherlock as the lanky man stalked off to his room. John was confused. What happened? Did he say something wrong? "Sherlock? Is something wro-", but the door shut before he could ask. He sighed heavily before standing. Hopefully this would be cleared up by tomorrow and things could continue on normally. He tightened the towel around his waist and headed upstairs to his bedroom, where he slipped into a t-shirt and pants and crawled into bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys deal with John's revelation and a new case comes up that seems to be connected to John's heritage...

The next morning, Sherlock opened his eyes carefully, deciding on whether or not yesterday's events were a dream. /Not/ he decided, opening his door to the smell of tea. A steaming mug sat on the table and John sat in his favourite chair. "Morning," he said with a yawn, reaching for his mug. Taking a sip, he looked quizzically at his friend. "Something wrong?" he asked.

John had set about his daily routine, trying - hoping - to get things back to normal (well as normal as things got for them). He made a modest breakfast of jam and toast and would try to get get Sherlock to eat some like he always did. When the detective finally entered the kitchen, John set a steaming cup of tea in front of him, like always. "Morning, Sherlock.", he greeted back, then answering the small inquiry, "Nothing. How are you this morning?".

"Better, now that I have tea, thanks. You?" he asked, taking a sip of the steaming brew. He smiled when the cup left his lips, a bit of domestic sentiment warming him. Then he grimaced. /Better not to think about John like that/ he thought. /Not now at least/. Sherlock was still trying to decipher his feelings towards John, and with this new information, Sherlock was having an even more difficult time. Taking another swig of tea, he sat down across from John.

"Good.", John nodded, sitting down at the table with Sherlock. He pushed a plate towards him, giving him a look that said /please eat something/. Things seemed to be fine, but John could tell that his friend was still troubled. "Well, then..I've a feeling you you're still trying to wrap your head around this. So if you have any other questions, or just want to discuss it, then...", he waved his hand in a gesture.

"I understand why you didn't want to tell me that you're a...mer, but I'm still feeling a bit angry that you didn't trust me enough to tell me.". Sherlock glared into his mug, trying to control his voice and choose his words carefully. "You know that after Baskerville, I'd never experiment on you without your permission," he whispered quietly. Of course he wanted to know everything now, but then again, he didn't. Not when he was feeling the way he did. The detective nibbled on toast and sipped his tea, staying silent the entire time. How did one deal with this? /Maybe I should write a book/ he joked to himself. /"So You Found Out That Your Friend's A Mer"/.

"You're right, Sherlock.", John nodded, a bit ashamed at the truthfulness of his friend's words, "You're right. I should have trusted you. But I've just had to hide my true self for so long, it's practically instinctual now.". He smiled tightly at seeing Sherlock eating even just a little, then cleared his throat. "Well, at least now I don't have to hide while in the flat.", but then looked downward awkwardly, " Uh..I mean, if that's fine..if you're not comfortable with that, I could just continue to...relax when you're not home.".

Sherlock smiled weakly. "I don't mind, actually. I've gotten over the initial shock, and I think that I'm in a very unique situation. I mean, who can say that their best friend is a merman? Not that I'd tell anyone, of course." The detective added quickly. Leaning back in his chair, Sherlock bit into his toast and took another swig of tea. "So," he said. Not finishing the sentence and leaving his friend to help him out.

"Good. That's good.". John smiled at seeing Sherlock eat a little more, before picking up where Sherlock started off. "So...I don't have to to go to the clinic..what have you got going today?". He took a bite and during of his own food as he listened.

Sherlock shrugged and gestured to the laptop on the den table. "We have a case. A murder in Ireland if you're up for it. It's quite interesting, and very promising, I think." Sherlock tapped on the table absently, thinking of how to solve the case from here. "Wife..." he muttered to himself.

John nodded. "Ireland, huh? Never been there. What sort of case? Must be good if we need to travel.". He took another bite and sip of tea when he heard the detective mutter something. "Hm? Wife? What about a wife?", John asked.

Sherlock returned from his mind palace, attention on John now. "Multiple men murdered in their homes, viciously stabbed to death. Doors locked from the inside, alarm systems still armed. A symbol was found on each of the victims, carved into their chests. I think it may be a scorned wife." Sherlock took a bite of his toast. "Do you want to go?"

"Hm. That's at least a seven, eh?", said John with a smirk. When Sherlock asked if wanted to go, it struck John as unusual. "Sherlock, as long as we've lived together, you've never /asked/ me if I /wanted/ to do anything. You usually just drag me along and expect everyone to go along with your every whim.", he explained, but with no real displeasure in his voice. "Are you sure everything's alright?".

"Everything's fine, but I see now that some things are better done with permission. If that makes any sense," he explained. Sherlock hadn't realized how careless he'd been until yesterday, when he found out his best friend had been hiding a huge secret from him for God knows how long. All because he was afraid that Sherlock would run tests without his permission.

John's eyebrows rose at that. "Um..that's, that's good.". He took another bite before continuing, "Though I..I can't help but feel like...you discovering my /secret/ has something to do with it.". He looked at Sherlock seriously. "Sherlock, I don't want this to change anything between us. I'm still me.".

"I know that. Of course you still are. And it has some to do with your secret," Sherlock admitted, sipping his tea. "But mostly the Fall," /And a very large dose of dopamine/ he thought to himself.

John froze at the mention of the Fall. It was a touchy subject. They rarely, if ever, talked about it. He cleared his throat before responding. "Well, regardless..as much as your behavior could use improvement, I don't want you changing yourself completely 180. I like you just the way you are. Okay?". He gave Sherlock a big, friendly smile, eyes bright.

Sherlock smiled widely. "Does that mean we're going to Ireland?" he asked excitedly. He hurried over to his laptop and began going over the photos of the corpses. He analyzed the images of the symbols over and over, zooming in and then back out. Something about it looked familiar, something that reminded him of John. "John," he called. "Does this symbol mean anything to you?". Sherlock snapped his head up from the image as he realized he'd seen John reading a book with that same symbol on it. He began rummaging through his bookshelf and finally found it. Opening to the first page, he froze. Merpeople. "Don't come with me to Ireland, John,", he said darkly.

John was coming over to the computer to see what Sherlock was asking about, but stopped, his expression falling confused at Sherlock's command. "What? Why not?".

"Look at the symbol, John. And tell me what you see." Sherlock shook his head and handed his friend the book. "This person isn't targeting unfaithful men, they're targeting merpeople. You can't come.". As his friend, Sherlock couldn't let John come to Ireland. But as someone who loved him dearly, Sherlock would duck tape him to the ceiling in Mrs. Hudson's flat.

John looked at the screen with horror. "Oh, my god...". He whipped his head around to glare at Sherlock. "What? No, Sherlock! I'm not staying behind and letting you go alone, out of the question!".

"John," He stopped, his voice faltering momentarily. "John, I can't risk you getting captured. Or worse, ending up like them," he said pointing at the laptop. "You have to stay.". They stared down for a few seconds until Sherlock cast his gaze downward. "Is there any way I could change your mind about coming with me?", he asked softly. He'd just have to be a bit more cautious this case.

John clenched his jaw, anger beginning to swell within him. "How can you ask me to stay behind on this? They're killing /my/ people, Sherlock!", his voice was rising as he continued, "I was a soldier, remember? I can take care of myself.". He stopped and took a breath as Sherlock tried to bargain with him. "And what if you get hurt? You really expect me to stay behind and worry every moment that you're away that something terrible has happened to you? That I might not ever see you again?!". John calmed himself before he could start screaming at the detective, then spoke in a low voice, "You cannot do that to me. Not again.".

Sherlock stayed silent. What could he say? He knew what John went through every day after the Fall, he knew what he was asking was hard for the other man, but Sherlock couldn't lose John, either. "If you go, please be careful, John. I know you were a soldier, but I don't want anything to happen to you. And this isn't only because of who you are. It's because you're the only friend I've ever known.". Sherlock swallowed thickly, unsure if he should take the risk.

John sighed deeply. He could see the obvious distress and concern on the other man's face, and knew that Sherlock was just as worried about him, only trying to protect his only true friend. John stepped closer, expression softening a bit. "Thank you for being concerned about me, Sherlock. But you know that I am not the type to stay on the sidelines. I want to help you any way that I can, and I want to protect you, too.". He reached up and grasped the other's bicep in a reassuring, supportive gesture. "We'll look after each other, and protect each other, and solve the case together, like always. Okay?", he offered a bright smile to the detective whom he held so dear.

As Sherlock was about to tell John the other reason he wanted him to stay home, Mrs. Hudson knocked politely on the open door. 

"Hullo! Are you two havin' a domestic?". 

Rolling his eyes and saying something about herbal tea, Sherlock moved to his room to pack. "Hopefully, we'll only be in Ireland about a week, so pack a week's clothing. I'll call a hotel near the crime scenes to book a room, and then we'll be off. Mycroft is paying for the plane tickets.". he called into the living room.

It looked like Sherlock was about to say something else, but then their lovely landlady made an appearance and it was forgotten for now. When Sherlock went to his room to pack and called out instructions, John nodded and left to go pack himself, but not before asking, "When do we leave?".

"Tomorrow, if you wish, but I'd rather leave now. We'd-" Sherlock stopped his packing to look at the mobile on the table beside him. A text from Mycroft.

Private jet at airport. Ready when you are. MH

Sherlock shouted the text to John and continued his packing. As he set the suitcase down in the den, Mrs. Hudson chimed in once more. 

"Are you to going on a trip, then? A couple's retreat?".

Sherlock glared at the woman and asked if she could get some tea and that John wasn't gay. Texting his reply to Mycroft, he looked at the laptop once more before shutting it and slipping it into the suitcase.

John was coming down to hear what Sherlock shouted to him when Mrs. Hudson made her harmless assumption. He was about to chime in with his "not gay" defense, but to his surprise, Sherlock beat him to it. He stopped and raised an eyebrow. That was...odd, to say the least, but he shrugged it off. "So, Mycroft's got us on a private jet.". He waited until their not-housekeeper left the room before leaning closer to Sherlock to say, "Speaking of Mycroft...do you, uh..do you think he knows? About me?".

Sherlock shook his head. "For several reasons, Mycroft did not install cameras in the bathroom. And even if he did know, I'd think he wouldn't mention it.". Picking up his suitcase and giving Mrs. Hudson a kiss on the cheek, Sherlock headed down the stairs to hail a cab to the airport. Mrs. Hudson knew Sherlock was gay, but the constant remarks she made about it were really unhelpful. Not to mention that John might find out.

"Just thought I'd ask. You know how he has ways of finding out things about people, especially deep dark secrets.", he remarked, then went back upstairs to grab his luggage. Sherlock was downstairs and out the door before John could blink, leaving John to hurry and throw his jacket on and follow. He couldn't help but think that Sherlock was acting odd, being dodgy and avoiding eye contact almost completely. John sighed sadly as he stepped onto the street, a black car waiting for them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have to negotiate sleeping arrangements and meet a stranger with some valuable information on the case.

Sherlock tried to control his breathing as he piled into the car beside John. He wasn't normally like this. But John, of course, was his exception in everything. So once they were on the jet, hotel already reserved, and John sat towards the front, Sherlock plopped his things in the seat across from him and immediately moved to the bathroom. 'Control yourself.', he scolded his reflection. The detective breathed deeply, slashed water in his face, and returned to the cabin where he sat down and pulled out his phone to text Mycroft a reluctant thank you. A moment after, the hotel called with some news that made Sherlock damn the world and fate and the universe all in one thought: There were no more rooms available with two beds. Sherlock swore and sighed deeply, putting the phone on speaker and asking the woman on the other end to repeat her news for John. Things were just piling against him, weren't they?

When John heard the news about the room, he sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face as he sat back in his chair. "How does that always happen to us?", he vocalized his disbelief. 'It's like the universe is out to get us', he thought. When they finally arrived at the hotel, he stood there with his bags next to Sherlock, staring at the single bed. Finally, he shrugged, stepping into the room to get settled. "Okay, I suppose I'll just take one of the chairs, or maybe sleep on the floor. Whatever works better.".

Sherlock made a noise in his throat. "Don't be ridiculous, John," he said, removing a few towels from the rack in the bathroom and laying them in the tub, which just happened to be long enough for the detective to sleep in. "Take the bed. I'm actually used to sleeping in bathtubs. I did it as a child whenever my father and Mycroft were shouting. Most nights, I'd just sleep in the tub,". Sherlock grimaced at the memory and the fact that he'd just revealed a childhood secret. Taking a deep breath, he smiled. "By all means, have the bed.". Unpacking his things, Sherlock opened the laptop and sat at the desk in the corner to look at the reports and the photos from the crime scene. A woman, it seemed, was the attacker of all of these men. Another mer, perhaps? Or was it a human, someone with great contempt for people like John? He needed to do some research. "John? Would the mermaids be angry with mermen for some reason?".

John gave the detective a strange look. "Sherlock, you can't sleep in the bathtub! Even if you did as a child, you're a grown man now. There's no way you'd fit!". He dropped his bags next to the bed. "You know what? Sod it. You never sleep anyway, I'll sleep in the bed. If you do decide to sleep, then you can join me. This has happened so many times, I just don't care anymore.". He sighed and sat on the bed, removing his shoes as he listened to Sherlock work on his laptop. When asked about any conflicts between merfolk, John shrugged. "How the hell should I know, Sherlock?", he said in an exasperated tone, "I never lived with the other merfolk. Remember, I was adopted by humans when I was a pup. Or did you delete that?", he said the last part a bit snippy perhaps, but he was tired.

Sherlock's head snapped up at the snarky comment about his deletion process. "No, John, I remember well when you told me about your heritage. I just figured you might know some things is all.". The detective made a point of keeping his voice even and not letting it rise. He didn't delete things about John, but he couldn't tell John that lest he tell him why. "You were reading about them, after all.", he added carefully. John was tired, and it was understandable, seeing about their current situation with the bed. "Keep the bed.". Sherlock even laid down in the tub to make his point. "I fit, it's comfortable. Now sleep. You're tired and will be of more use in the morning. And John?", Sherlock called from the bathroom, "Could you hand me the laptop?".

"No, Sherlock. I didn't read anything about any kind of conflict of that sort.", he answered. When the tall, lanky detective stubbornly claimed the tub again, John walked into the bathroom to see him laying in the tub, barely fitting. Instead of arguing further, John just shook his head. "Whatever, Sherlock. If you want to lie in an uncomfortable position all night, then I don't want to hear any complaints about how sore and aching you are tomorrow.". He went to retrieve Sherlock's laptop and said as he handed it to him, "Just clear out of there in the morning so I can take a shower when I get up.". With that he left, mumbling a "Stubborn arse." On his way out. He stripped down to his pants and crawled into bed, weighing the pros and cons of living with such a ridiculous man until he fell asleep. 

Sherlock did more research for about another hour before rubbing his eyes and setting the laptop down beside him, curling up as comfortable as he could.

\---

Thunder struck as Sherlock woke with a jolt, covered in sweat and panting heavily. John. John was dead, killed by the murderer. Stumbling out of the bathtub, he shuffled over to the bed and listened to John's breathing before holding a hand over the blonde's chest and feeling for the symbol carved into the other victims. He sighed in relief and nearly collapsed onto the bed beside John. Shaking himself of the fears didn't work anymore, so he hesitantly slid next to the doctor for comfort that his best friend wasn't dead.

\---

The next morning, John awoke to find Sherlock in the bed next to him. The other man was lying there, looking at him. It was almost creepy. But he blew it off, knowing by now that Sherlock just did odd things now and then. 'Probably seeing what he can deduce just by watching me sleep.', John thought in amusement. 

"So, decided to take my suggestion, did you? Remembered that I'm a doctor, so I might know what I'm talking about?", he spoke sarcastically, but not callously, as he smirked the whole time. He sat up and stretched before getting up and walking to the bathroom. He closed the door and shook his head when seeing the "bedding" still in the tub. After tossing them out, he turned on the shower and stripped. Standing under the spray, he sighed at the feel of the warm water, feeling his body changing only slightly before washing himself. Afterwards, he stepped out and realized that he forgot to bring clothes with him. He knew he looked strange right now - patches of golden scales on different parts of his body, gills forming where shoulder meets neck, webbing between his fingers and toes, eyes glowing just a bit - but he was glad that he didn't have to hide anymore, and wrapped a towel around his waist before walking out to find his suitcase.

Sherlock sat beside the doorway to the bathroom and waited for John to come out so that he could explain why he was in the bed. He hadn't said anything to the doctor when he'd woken up, and decided that he needed to explain himself. "I thought you were dead, John," he whispered. This was the first nightmare he'd had since returning to Baker Street, and he was terrified. Up until that point, he didn't know how much he needed John, nor how much he cared for him. "I'm sorry for being terribly awkward about it, but I needed comfort," Sherlock dropped his gaze and stood up. He really should tell John, but seeing as the man was in only a towel, such an endeavor would prove unwise. A shimmer caught his eye and Sherlock noticed the gold scales adorning the other's arms and torso. Without thinking, he reached out to touch them, noticing how they felt like a cross between skin and scale, admiring the sturdiness of them. He noticed John's eyes, too. Their glow made him inhale deeply and draw his hand away. Clearing his throat, Sherlock muttered an apology and said something about grabbing some crisps from the vending machine in the hall. As soon as he was out of the room, he let out a shaky breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He had it bad for the merman, didn't he?

"You say something Sherlock?", John asked as he strolled over to his suitcase, but stopped when he noticed the other man gaping at him. "Yeah, uh..I only change a little if it's not salt water.", he explained, but then froze when Sherlock reached out and touched him. He shivered as those deft, slender fingers brushed over and prodded his scaled hide, investigating like always. The intense fascination in those impossibly colored eyes caused a huge blush to color his cheeks. It was almost embarrassing how this man's simple touch was affecting him. But just as soon as it started, it ended, and he heard a mumbling about crisps before he was left alone in the room. He let out a shuttering breath and looked down to discover how hard he had become. He sighed heavily, hoping that Sherlock didn't notice and that it wasn't what caused him to run off. John dug clothes out of his case and walked into the bathroom, but before dressing he threw off his towel and stood over the toilet and began masturbating furiously. After coming hard enough to elicit a long deep groan from his throat, John wiped his hand and then rubbed his other over his face, cursing under his breath. He thought he had more control over himself than that! He quickly dressed and exited the bathroom, grabbing his toiletry bag to finish getting ready and waited for Sherlock to come back.

\---

Sherlock stood in front of the vending machine for several minutes trying to get control of his breathing and his thoughts. He shook his head and inserted his coins into the machine for crisps. He waited as the machine dropped the bag down into the retrieval slot, his mind wandering back to his previous thoughts. Thoughts of John in that towel, thoughts of John without the towel, thoughts of the two of them... Swearing loudly, the detective inserted more coins for a bag of pretzels, trying to delete the dirty thoughts from his mind. He really couldn't think of John like that, not now. As he walked back to the room, he heard a groan from the bathroom. Raising an eyebrow, he quickened his pace and paused before opening the door. He found his friend brushing his teeth in the bathroom. "Everything alright, John?" the detective asked. He noticed that John was dressed and decided that a fresh change of clothes were in order. He began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling a new one from the bag, the purple one that John had one made an awkward complement about once. Stripping himself of the one he wore, he began putting on the other, watching John out of the corner of his eye. He chuckled in amusement as he buttoned the last of it and fixed his collar. "Something the matter?" he asked, bemused by the other's reaction to him switching his shirt.

When Sherlock finally came back, John was nearly ready, having already done his hair and was now brushing his teeth. By now, the scales and gills were gone, and he was back to looking like a regular human. "Hmm? Yeah, I'm fine.", he brushed off the question, trying not to think about what he was just doing. When Sherlock inquired after him again, John blushed as he realized that he had been watching as Sherlock dressed himself, and God, it had to be that shirt, didn't it?! He shook himself and spit and rinsed, and then put his toothbrush away. He came out into the room and picked up one of the bags of crisps. "I hope this doesn't count as breakfast.", he joked.

Sherlock smirked and shook his head. "No, just something to hold us over until we have a chance to eat. I actually saw a quaint cafe in the lobby.", he commented. Packing his jacket into the suitcase and rolling up his sleeves, the brunette stuck his hands in his pockets and walked over to the bathroom, studying John and waiting his turn to brush his teeth. He shook his hair out and nodded, happy with the way it fell. He never really was one to brush his hair. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, Sherlock joined his friend in the room and motioned to the door casually. "Shall we?" he asked. "We'll grab a quick breakfast and then head down to the crime scenes.".

At the mention of the café, John looked up. "Oh? Yeah, that sounds good.". Noticing how Sherlock "brushed" his hair, John shook his head and remarked, "Is that really all it takes for you? Figured with the mess of curls you have, you'd need some kind of product. Even I have to use product.". Soon they were ready and Sherlock was leading them out the door.

\---

Sherlock kept his hands in his pockets, feeling very at ease at the moment, not knowing if it was because of the doctor's presence, or his flustering. Either way, he felt a bit more in control. As they made their way down to the lobby, he saw a woman walk past him, wearing a symbol on a necklace. /The/ symbol. "John.", he whispered, making sure his friend saw. They continued their walk and once they were seated, Sherlock ordered some Earl Grey. "Where do you want to start?", he asked, distractedly.

When Sherlock motioned to the woman as they passed her, John took a quick glance so as to not attract her attention, and nodded when he saw the necklace. When they took their table, John ordered tea and an actual meal, unlike the detective. "I dunno. You're usually the one leading the way.".

Sherlock hummed in agreement, his fingers steepling under his chin as he did. "I just don't know how this time.", he said, his voice trailing off. Already, he was beginning to work out scenarios and solutions, dissecting what he saw from pictures and deducing them. "I'd need to see the bodies and the scenes to get a better deduction.", he mumbled absently, sipping the tea when it came. He processed what he had seen of the woman in the hall and ruled her out as a suspect and then glanced around. Everywhere he looked, he saw the mer-symbol. His mouth gaped open. "Look around John, and see if you can spot anything familiar.", he said, taking it in. The town was a hotspot for merfolk? Or was it just an overactive imagination?

When prompted, John looked around. What he noticed made his eyebrows raise up, eyes wide. "The symbol..the merfolk symbol. It's the hotel theme!", he confirmed in a hushed voice. He took a few bites of his breakfast before continued, "So, you think the owner knows anything? Or do you think he's just a fan of fantasy?".

Sherlock shook his head. "No, no. This is deliberate, all the symbols are hidden unless you know what you're looking for. This whole village is, er will be again, a haven for mer. Most of the people here are wearing that symbol.", he said, looking around. He spotted a man with a tattoo on his arm. "Him.", Sherlock nodded in his direction. "That's the owner, and a merman. I think we could talk to him, ask him what's going on and the like.". And maybe he could get more information on merfolk, for John.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock talk with the bar's owner and John learns more about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm deliberately repeating the last paragraph from the previous chapter so that it'll make sense and be easier to get right back into this scene in the story.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, no. This is deliberate, all the symbols are hidden unless you know what you're looking for. This whole village is, er will be again, a haven for mer. Most of the people here have or are wearing that symbol.", he said, looking around. He spotted a man with a tattoo on his arm. "Him.", Sherlock nodded in his direction, "That's the owner, and a merman. I think we could talk to him, ask him what's going on and the like.". And maybe he could get more information on merfolk, for John.

John nodded, scarfing down as much as he could before Sherlock began to stand up, which wasn't long, as always. As they made their way over, John leaned in and whispered, "Perhaps we can get him alone somewhere, show him that I'm also a mer. Maybe he'll be more willing to talk to us then?".

Sherlock shrugged. "Maybe. Let's see if he'll talk to us anyway.". Sherlock's strides were swift as he walked over to the bar, where the owner talked with another employee. After sitting down, the detective motioned him over and asked for a scotch. "Do you have any idea what's going on here?", he asked, downing the scotch and asking for another one, playing the part of the clueless and curious tourist. When the owner shook his head and dodged the question by asking something about how he was enjoying his time here, Sherlock smirked and huffed a breath. "What about all these symbols? There were loads on the photos of the crime scenes.". The owner frowned and lowered his hand, motioning for Sherlock to keep his voice down. "You mer?" he asked quietly. Sherlock shook his head and gestured to John. "No, but my friend here is, and he's very concerned.".

John reached out a hand in greeting, his face serious but with a small smile. "John Watson.". He leaned in and spoke in a low voice, "I'm sure that you're just as upset as I am about what's been happening to our brethren. If there's anything you could tell us, we'd greatly appreciate it.".

The owner shook his hand. "Faurst McRuse. I'll tell you everythin' I know, but not 'ere.". He nodded and walked towards a backdoor, allowing the two in before following. "I really can't say I know who did it, but I know why. These men are mers who decided to live on land permanently. See, most of us will take about half the year to go home to Sea, but there are some of us, quite a bit actually, who want to stay here. My kid is one of 'em. She lives in Wales, though, safe from whoever's doin' this.". 

Sherlock's fingers went immediately into the signature pose as he listened to McRuse explain, the gears in his head whirring fast as he made more connections and discovered more questions. "Do you have clans? Like, prominent families?".

McRuse nodded. "Aye, several. But if you're lookin' for one who don't like the landers, as we call 'em, look into the MacBrides. They're real sour 'bout it.". After he finished, he turned to look at Sherlock. "I need to talk with Watson alone, please," he asked. Sherlock nodded and began to leave. As he did, he heard McRuse say, "I knew your mother, John. She was a good friend.". The brunette swallowed and shut the door behind him.

\--

John sat and listened intently, eyes wide as he took in the information. He began to make a comment, but then the other mer was asking Sherlock to step outside so that he could talk with only John. He watched the detective comply and was about to say something after him when the owner's words stopped him. He whipped his head back to the other, mouth gaping. "M-my mother? You knew my mum?". He picked up Sherlock's abandoned glass and took a drink. "So you know that I've never been around other mer? I was raised by humans. God...you know, I don't even remember what she looked like?".

McRuse nodded and smiled sadly. "She was beautiful. In fact I have a picture of her for you, but I need to warn you about somethin'. Your mum was a big supporter of landers. And the MacBrides were out for blood when they found out. See, she was married to one of 'em. Jacob, I think. Or Josh, I can't remember. But either way, they were angry 'bout it. So if you go to see 'em, be careful not to let them know you've had no experience at Sea, ok?". Faurst stood and offered a photograph to John. "This is her.", he said before leaving. He motioned to Sherlock before returning to the bar.

John became excited when Faurst said he had a picture of his mother, but listened closely to his warning. He nodded, telling himself to share the info with Sherlock later. The excitement returned as a photo was handed to him, and could barely keep from revealing such in his face. He held it in his hand and nearly gasped. The woman in the picture was like a work of art. Her face reminded him of one of those classic movie actresses. Her hair was long and flowing, gold like sunshine; her eyes were as blue as the ocean itself. "My god..she's beautiful.", John breathed. She was in human form, prompting John to ask, "I wonder what she looked like as a mer?". He tore his eyes away eventually, looking back at Faurst. "Uh, what was her na-", he began, only to find the man gone and Sherlock walking back over.

"Everything alright?", Sherlock asked with caution. He noticed the slip of paper in John's hand. "What's that?". Sherlock was unnaturally concerned for the merman. However, the sooner they caught this mysterious mer-killer, the sooner Sherlock could rest easy. "Did you get any valuable information from McRuse? Anything we'd need to know?".

"Uh, yeah. Fine, great.". When Sherlock saw the picture in his hand, John handed it over with a warm smile. "It's my mum. My real mum. I got it from McRuse. Said he knew her. He left before I could get her na- oh, wait.", he said noticing some writing on the back, "It says 'Meridith'. My mum's name was Meridith.". As Sherlock looked, John remarked, "Beautiful, wasn't she?". Then he was asked about their conversation. "He said that my mum was a big supporter of the landers - mer who live as humans - and there were these people, the McBrides. Mum was apparently married to one of them, a Jacob or Josh. He also warned me not to let it slip that I've never been a sea dweller. Evidently, they hate landers.".

Sherlock was temporarily startled at the resemblance between the woman in the picture and his friend. He nodded, listening to John and the new piece of information. He smiled and handed John the picture. "Well, we'll be sure to be cautious, won't we?". His fingers brushed the blondes, sending shock waves through his entire arm. Damn these emotions. Smiling weakly, Sherlock shoved his hands in his pockets. "So," he said, "Crime scenes next, if you can handle it.".

John took the picture back, nodding. When their fingers briefly touched, a warmth spread throughout him. 'Dammit Watson, get yourself under control!', he mentally scolded himself, hoping the heat didn't reach his cheeks. He got up to follow Sherlock, taking one more swallow from the glass of whiskey. "If I can handle it? I can always handle it, Sherlock. Why would you doubt me now?".

Sherlock smirked and headed out the door, his blogger in tow. He quickly hailed a cab and off they went to the first scene. Blood covered the sheets in the bedroom and a detective was waiting in the doorway for the two of them. "Sherlock Holmes?", he asked, looking at the two of them. "And John Watson?". The detective offered his hand and said, "Name's Inspector Dwight.". 

Sherlock nodded at him, and began asking questions like what times the bodies were found, approximate time of death, their last names. 

"Their last names, sir?", he asked. "Those are in the case files. I figured you'd have read them.". 

Sherlock scoffed and looked under the bed, over the bed, out the window. "Dull.". He looked back at Dwight, who only smiled small and nodded. 

" 'Strade said you'd do that.". 

Rolling his eyes, the consulting detective rummaged through cupboards and drawers, taking in all he could.

\---

John gazed upon the bloodied corpse in the room, and couldn't help but feel like this crime was somehow personal, for it was one of his own people lying there dead, murdered. He shook himself out of his reverie and instead focused on his partner who flew about the room looking for clues. "Find anything, Sherlock?", he asked as the detective came back his way.

"Loads.". he replied absently, swooping to the closet before pausing and backtracking towards John. "Are you sure you'll be up for this?", he asked softly, "We have four more bodies after this.". He touched the man's shoulder and looked at him. 

"Uh, five, actually.".

Sherlock's head whipped around to face the detective in the doorway. "What?". 

Dwight held up his phone. "Five more bodies to look at. Another was found only moments ago. Quiet fresh, actually. M.E. puts time of death at approximately a half hour ago.".

"Name?", Sherlock asked, though he didn't know why. 

"A 'Faurst McRuse' is the victim.". 

Sherlock paled impossibly. "What? Where?".

Before John could respond, they were told of the latest killing. John gasped nearly audibly when they were told who it was. "Oh, my god...", he breathed, his face stricken with disbelief.

"What, you knew him?", Dwight asked. 

"Not exclusively," Sherlock growled. "But we knew him.". 

Dwight scratched his head and mumbled an apology before telling him the location of where he was found: just outside the cafe. 

"John.", Sherlock said, concern lacing his voice.

Sherlock spoke his name, and John took a deep breath, composing himself. "Yeah..yeah. Let's go, Sherlock.", he said before heading towards the door. He could hear the concern in his friend's voice, but the last thing ha wanted was any sort of pity. He just wanted to find justice, it's what they did.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go to examine the body of poor McRuse, and follow the lead of the MacBride family.

Sherlock's growing concern and attachment to John was proving to make this case and their continuous partnership strenuous. He just wanted to close this case and be over with it. Maybe when they got back, he could tell John how he really felt? 

Shaking his head of the thoughts, the brunette hailed a cab back to the cafe. They rode in silence, and it was enveloping rather than their usual comfort. The tension was palpable, but whether it was from case or feelings was unclear. 

The taxi pulled to a halt in front of the alley behind the hotel cafe, and sure enough, there was the owner, covered in blood and carved with the symbol. Swallowing thickly, Sherlock stepped out of the cab and toward the scene with fiery determination. He hopped and bobbed about the body, picking up clues and deciphering them. As he closely examined the symbol in McRuse - 'No, the victim.', he told himself - the detective felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He was being watched by someone in the crowd. A woman, early twenties with a steely gaze, watched him carefully. 

"Excuse me, ma'am!", he called walking over to her, "Did you know him?".

She nodded. "My name is Tanya Grade, and this was my friend, Faurst McRuse.". 

He smiled softly and tipped his head. "I'm sorry for your loss. Do you know anyone who'd want to do this to him?". 

She huffed a laugh. "Loads. You obviously know what this town caters to, so you know about the MacBrides. And,", her voice lowered, "You should know about the amount of avid followers they have, the people who disciple to their beliefs against landers.". With that, she turned and walked away. 

Sherlock hummed and returned to the cab, where John stood back. "I think we should pay a visit to the MacBrides and some of their more faithful followers.". 

John simply stood back and watched Sherlock work, hypnotized as always by the frantic yet fluid motions. He was fooling himself if he thought he could emotionally detach himself from the case. He never could completely, but especially not now. He furrowed his brow and strained to see who Sherlock was talking to, but then the detective was walking back towards him. Before he could ask, Sherlock told him about going to see these "McBrides". John nodded almost eagerly. 

"I regret not having my gun on me.", he said quietly. Normally, John never went on a case without it, but whenever they had to travel, he had to leave it behind, for there was no way to get a gun past customs.

Sherlock smirked. "It's in the suitcase in the room, if you want to go back and get it.". Sherlock never felt entirely safe unless John and his Browning were near by, waiting somewhere if he needed them. The detective hopped in the cab and waited for John.

John looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but nodded at the suggestion. "Do I even want to know how you got a gun past airport security?", he asked as the cab pulled away.

Sherlock grinned. "I'd assume not.".

They rode back to the hotel, the weight from earlier lifted. Once they reached the room, Sherlock rummaged through his own suitcase for hit jacket and, slipping it on, looked around for his scarf and gloves. "John?", he asked, worried, "Where is my scarf?".

John searched through his suitcase and, sure enough, there was his Browning. He promptly stuffed it securely in the back of his jeans. "Your scarf? If it's not with your things, then I wouldn't know, Sherlock.".

Sherlock began to internally panic. "I packed it, I'm sure.", he muttered. Looking behind the door of the bathroom, he sighed quietly. His scarf and gloves were in his trench coat pocket. He felt utterly stupid for not looking there in the first place. Maybe it was the lack of the security blanket that was his scarf? Shaking his head, he put on the garments and opened the door, letting John out first before hailing a taxi. "The MacBride residence, please," he asked, his voice echoing in the cabin of the car.

John shook his head and be grinned at his friend's absentmindedness. Once they were all ready, he followed Sherlock out and into the cab, steeling himself for the confrontation.

\---

They pulled up to the residence a half hour later, and Sherlock had to steady his breathing. Everywhere, the symbol was visible, decorating the gate, carved into the pavestones, even crafted into bushes. 'Wow.', he thought. 

The cab stopped and Sherlock's face became neutral. He stepped out of the taxi and up to the door. He knocked once, twice, three times, and was greeted by a deeply frowning face. 

"What do you want?", the man asked, his voice gravelly, like a smoker's. 

"Could we talk to a Jacob or Josh MacBride?", he asked.

John was a little impressed by the residence, not really expecting it to be so...well, rich. He waited as Sherlock knocked on the door several times before someone finally answered. That someone was apparently not fond of visitors, judging by the tone of his rough voice. Since his partner hadn't bothered introducing them (nothing unusual there), John extended a hand in greeting. 

"I'm Dr. John Watson, this is Sherlock Holmes. Uh..we're here to speak to a Jacob or Josh McBride concerning the recent murders here.". He tried to look as open and friendly as possible to persuade the man.

The man only looked at the hand and grimaced. "Jake's upstairs, though I don't know if he'll want any visitors righ' now.". 

An older man appeared behind the door-greeter. "My name is Jacob MacBride. Please, come in.".

Sherlock smirked at the other and let John in before following. They sat down in the den for tea. 

As their host handed John a cup, he paused. "You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago,", he said solemnly. 

"Well,", Sherlock said, "What do you know of the recent murders?".

"I assume you know the clientele that this town caters to? And the rumors that concern us?".

Sherlock nodded, sipping his tea. 

"Then you know who I was married to?", Jake cast a sidelong glance at the doctor. 

"Of course.".

"Then you know I could never do this. But,", he lowered his voice, "I heard that Tanya Grade has a tremendous hatred for landers and those who harbour them, if you'll pardon the pun.".

'Interesting.', Sherlock thought. 

Jacob turned to John. "I had a wife once,", he said, "And she had a child. I never knew him. She wrote to me once, saying that he was safe with a family by the name of Watson. How strange a man with the last name of Watson should visit me...", he trailed off, his eyes glazing over at a memory.

John could only smile as he was recognized, and sat listening to the man's statement while taking regular sips of tea. When he mentioned the Watsons, John looked over at Sherlock, silently asking if it was a good idea to tell them who he was.

Sherlock smiled softly, and asked where the restrooms were. As he left, he nodded reassuringly at John and went over to the bathroom, hoping that everything would go smoothly for his friend. 

After entering the bathroom, Sherlock huffed a sigh and splashed cold water on his face, smiling at the feeling of the refreshing substance. It was difficult, this case. Not just for the cultural shock he'd received, but the wild and foreign emotions swirling through him. Was this what love felt like? To have the utmost concern and the absolute protectiveness of someone? To be willing to put them before yourself?

John nodded as Sherlock excused himself to the facilities, then turned back to their host with a meek smile. "Yeah, uh..", he began, scratching the back of his head, "About the Watson's...I uh, I'm the boy they took in. Yeah, that-that was me.".

After his confession, the last thing John expected was for the man to collapse before him and pull him into a sobbing embrace.

"My God,", he whispered, "You look just like your mother.". He took in a shuddering breath. "You can't let my family know that you're Meridith's son. You have to leave. No one here committed these murders. Look into Grade.". 

\---

Sherlock took a deep breath and returned to his cool manner before walking out and seeing Jacob on his knees holding John tightly as he wept silently. His shoulders shook and he had his head buried in John's shoulder. 

He took a step back, away from their sight, and watched. So much emotion, so much love. How could he have ever missed this? Clearing his throat, Sherlock stepped forward. "John.", he said, hands in his pockets, eyes shying away from the two of them.

John awkwardly patted Jacob's back and listened to his words. He was a bit overcome himself at the display, his eyes just beginning to water when he heard Sherlock call him. John looked up and blushed slightly, and saw a strange, somewhat vulnerable expression on the detective's face. It was not one he was used to seeing. He cleared his throat and spoke as evenly as he could at that moment. "Sherlock.".

"I think we should head back to the hotel. We can pick up on this tomorrow?", Sherlock offered. After seeing this display of affection, the detective needed time to get his thought process in order. Some time away from the case would be good for them both. Maybe.

Nodding, John untangled himself from the man in his arms and stood, sniffling a bit and straitening his clothes. "Yeah, sounds good.". He turned back to Jacob with a friendly smile, "Um, thank you for your uh, help. We'll just be..", he fumbled, pointing towards the exit and quickly leaving with Sherlock. 

During the drive back to their hotel, John told Sherlock the name that Jacob gave him. "He swears his family had nothing to do with the murders and that that's who we should look into.".

Sherlock looked at John quizzically. "That's the name of the woman I was talking with. She said to look into the MacBrides...". 

Sherlock Told the driver to go to Tanya Grade's residence instead. "She knows that we're onto her, so she may be leaving the country. We have to hurry.".

The soft rustle beside him told him that John was checking his gun, and it made him smile. The first time in a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go after Tanya Grade, and afterward, decide to enjoy the rest of their time in Ireland.

John looked over at his friend when he heard about Sherlock's conversation with Grade, his jaw clenching. He hated when criminals gave them the run around. He pulled out his gun and checked it, readying himself for the next encounter. Hopefully they were close to wrapping up this case and the slaughter of his kind would end.

The cab had barely come to a stop when Sherlock leaped out of it and towards the door. It was unlocked, so the two were able to walk right in and find Tanya packing her things. 

Turning towards them, she held a knife to her throat. "Don't come any closer!", she shrilled. 

Holding his hands up, Sherlock took a step back. "Why?", he asked. 

"I knew I was screwed when you showed up. The infamous Sherlock Holmes! I had a moment of hope when it took you so long. But no, you never fail.". 

He took a fraction of a step forward, unnoticed by the crazed killer. "Why did you kill those people?". 

She sneered, her hand faltering a bit. "We belong in the Sea, Mr. Holmes. Not among you lesser beings. I hate being here now, in fact. But there are some of us, the ones who are unhappy or confused, the landers. They belong in the Sea with us. I tried. I tried talking them into it, returning to where they really belong, but they wouldn't budge. So I killed them. There, I said it. I killed them!". 

Sherlock lunged for her, struggling to take the blade from her and pin her to the ground. 

"It's not like you'd understand!", she sobbed as Sherlock brought her down, a knee on her back. "You're a human! You're not like me!".

\---

John had his gun trained on the woman the entire time, watching her carefully as she and Sherlock spoke. He grew angry at her confessions, but didn't falter. When Sherlock lunged at her, a brief moment of panic surged through him, but thankfully Sherlock managed to evade the knife and brought the woman to the ground. John knelt beside them, and after assuring himself that the detective had everything under control, whipped out his phone and called the authorities. 

"Neither of you know anything!", she continued screaming. 

But Sherlock had stopped listening. He was just glad that they had caught the murderer and that John was now safe. Once Detective Dwight had arrived, Sherlock stuck his hands in his pockets and stood beside John awkwardly. 

"So, John,", he began, "I think it would be a shame to waste all this time for a case and not enjoy ourselves for the rest of the week. Don't you agree?". Wow, that sounded a lot better in his head. But at least it was out.

John looked at Sherlock with a surprised expression, but that quickly melted into a happy one. He licked his lips before he realized that he done so, and fought the blush that threatened to paint his cheeks and nodded. "Uh, yeah..yeah, that sounds good. What um..what did you have in mind?".

Sherlock let his relieved sigh out through his nose and he smiled, a genuine smile. He shrugged. 

"I don't know. I was thinking about going down by the beach. They have some very interesting tide pools, I heard.", he smiled, genuinely. It was a shoddy attempt at a flirt, but it may have to do. He didn't want to go about this the wrong way or have John push away entirely. He wouldn't mind if John let him down gently, but he really didn't want to be let down at all.

John couldn't help the damned butterflies in his stomach at that special smile that Sherlock only reserved for him, the genuine smile. He cleared his throat and nodded, "Tidal pools? Yeah, that sounds wonderful.". 

A tidal pool, far away from other people...what exactly was the detective thinking of? Maybe it was wishful thinking to hope for something romantic...probably he just wanted to see John in his true form, which actually, he was ready for. Either way, John was happy.

Sherlock beamed. "Good. I'll uh...We should go back to the hotel first. Change into something more comfortable? Like out of my coats and scarf, probably.". 

God, he was nervous. Why did he even ask again? Right, it wouldn't be decent to tell someone how you feel when you've just solved a crime and are still at the crime scene. He was going to tell John over something more romantic, like dinner, but the water seemed so nice. That and Sherlock wanted to get a real look at John's mer-form, embarrassingly enough.

John could swear that Sherlock was blushing, though for what reason he couldn't be sure, so he just shrugged it off. "Yeah, sure. Let's be off then.". 

\---

When they got back to the hotel, John rummaged in his suitcase for some shorts and a thin striped jumper, and changed in the bathroom. When taking off his jeans, something fell out his pocket: the picture of his mum. He picked it up and, fully dressed, walked back into the sitting room, gazing at the photo with a warm smile, and sat down on the bed. 

"Lovely woman, wasn't she? Hard to believe a goddess like this could make plain, ordinary old John Watson, hm?", he mused to his friend.

Sherlock's face flushed, but his friend wasn't looking. "You are anything but ordinary, John.", he said softly, more to himself than anyone, but it could still be heard. 

Clearing his throat, Sherlock stripped himself of his gloves, scarf, and jackets, and changed into a tee-shirt instead. 

"Ready?", he asked John, who was still sitting on the bed, staring. Thought whether he was thinking of his mum or watching Sherlock change his shirt yet again, the detective didn't know.

John blushed at that statement and looked up, "If you say so Sherlock. Thank y-", he stopped and blushed harder at what he saw. Sherlock in a plain t-shirt. No, it wasn't the first time the detective had worn one, but it was usually for bedtime and wrapped up in a dressing gown. Never casually, meant to go out in public. It was very different, and actually kinda, well, sexy. 

"Uh,", he cleared his throat and put the photo in his suitcase before shutting the lid, "Ready to uh..go then?". He forced himself to stop fiddling his fingers nervously at his side as he waited.

Sherlock smirked. "That's what I asked." Chuckling, he opened the door and let the other through first. 

"Uh, right.", John said, smiling sheepishly. 

As they left, Sherlock stopped solemnly in the lobby where the cafe stood, but quickly passed by it and out the doors. They hailed a cab and Sherlock asked the driver to take them to the piers. 

\---

John followed Sherlock out to the street, the cab ride rather silent until they reached their destination. He surveyed the area and, just as he thought: secluded, private. He took a deep breath and geared himself up for whatever was about to happen, hoping everything when smoothly.

Sherlock went over to a nearby bench and took of his socks and shoes before rolling up his pant legs and wading into the water near the tide pools. "The tide is still high, so the pools are hidden.", he explained, letting the sea foam gather at his ankles. "We have about a half hour before we can look in them.". He smiled at John. 

"You know,", he looked at the horizon, the low sun streaking the clouds with pink and orange, turning the water ghostly, "My uncle used to take me and Mycroft to the beach when we were younger. He hated it. Always sat at the picnic table or wherever. Me, I would dive headfirst into the waves, scour the beach for perfect shells, observe the little lives in tide pools.". 

He looked over at John again. "Every now and then, when a case permits, I go down to the shore and just sit there, listening to the waves..". His voice trails off, and he's left vulnerable, open to his friend and his feelings.

John watched as Sherlock sat to remove his footwear and followed suit. His friend waded into the water, but John hung back for now, and stood on the shore, listening to his story. 

"Sounds like you had a lot of fun. Never really would've figured you for the beach loving type.", he grinned. He knelt down on the sand and reached out to stir his hand through the water, webbing between his fingers forming as a result. 

Sherlock watched with fascination as John's fingers grew webbing between them and wondered what the rest of him would look like in the water. In the sea, where it belonged. Half-tempted to just shove his friend in the water as a joke, Sherlock began walking along the shoreline, leaving his feet in the water and wading through. Massive swells formed far off and swept up onto the beach, knocking Sherlock off balance a little bit every time. If he wasn't careful, he could fall. The swells began forming closer, but it wouldn't be a bother once the tide went down. He looked at his watch. Twenty more minutes, then he could look through tide pools with John and head back to the hotel.

John watched Sherlock wade through the water, and noticing how the swells nearly knocked him down a few times, had him warning, "Careful, Sherlock. Don't hurt yourself.". 

Then he felt maybe that was a bit paranoid of him, it wasn't as if Sherlock was going to drown in a foot of water. But all the same, he couldn't help but be protective. 

After a few moments of silence but for the sound of waves, John thought perhaps a bit of prompting was in order. 

"So, um...was there..something you wanted to, I mean..surely we didn't come all the way out here for idle chitchat?". Did that sound too eager? Damn...

Sherlock tossed a smile over his shoulder at John. "We came for the tide pools, but if there was something you wanted to do...". 

Sherlock laughed and waited for John to catch up. He wanted to tell John everything, but maybe now wasn't the time. Maybe when they were at the hotel? No, now may be a good time, when the tide pools were present.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reveals his true form to Sherlock, and both are prompted to address the nature of their relationship.

Sherlock strode over to the now open tide pools and began searching through them eagerly, the childish joy once again in full force. He picked up one at a time and explained to John what their scientific names were, what their properties were, and other facts he happened to have. 

John smiled warmly as Sherlock spoke, fascinated as always by the knowledge the younger man possessed. As he watched the excitedly distracted man, John decided it was now or never. He took a deep breath and stepped into the water, taking a seat next to Sherlock. His clothes were beginning to soak through, but it mattered little as they would no longer be necessary. He blushed a bit as he began to remove every stitch of clothing, already feeling his skin start itch with the forming scales. 

Sherlock was so excited that he didn't even notice John sit down beside him in the water. "John?" he asked softly. He swallowed thickly, blushing like a school girl, as he watched John strip down. It wasn't the parts that made him turn a furious red, I mean he had the same ones, but it was the fact that John was naked.

John found it rather endearing the way Sherlock blushed at his bareness, wondering if maybe the virginal accusations were true. The thought sent a pleasant shiver up his spine, if he could be Sherlock's first...

"Well, I can't very well change with my clothes in the way, can I?", he chuckled. 

John tossed his underpants onto the shore and turned back to his companion as he transformed before their eyes. 

Sherlock's embarrassment quickly turned to hypnotized awe when the other's legs began transforming into a tail and fins, golden scales transitioning smoothly into flesh at the waist and flecking John's chest. Just like before, without thinking of the consequences, Sherlock reached out to touch. His fingers trailed over the scales on John's chest, down to his tail, and finally to his fin. The brunette drank it all in. Every muscle, scale, and vein were practical, necessary, like they belonged there. 

His slender fingers touched the place where skin met scale before he realized what he was doing and withdrew his hand. "Sorry.", he mumbled, his gaze returning to the tide pools that no longer held his fascination the way John did.

\---

Sherlock was reaching out and touching him, running his curious hand along his entire body. John clenched his fists against the beach beneath him as he fought to maintain his composure at the wonderful sensation of that exploratory hand practically caressing his skin, scales, and fins. When Sherlock finally pulled away, John let out a shuddering breath, unable to stifle it very well. 

"Uh, it's fine.", he quickly assured. Just then, he could feel his usually concealed genitalia threatening to reveal itself from the slit in his pelvic region. He cleared his throat awkwardly and attempted to fold his arms in his lap. 

Sherlock noticed John's folded hands and raised a questioning brow, trying to keep the heat from reaching his cheeks.

"Could-" Sherlock faltered, cleared his throat, and tried again. "Could you tell me more about mer anatomy? Just to sate my curiosity?". It was an offhanded attempt at flirtation, and a jump at the chance for knowledge, but it could possibly lead to something more..

John blushed brighter before he could help it, and turned to Sherlock, trying not to look directly into those curious azure eyes. 

"What..uh, what do you want to know exactly?", he asked, shivering under the searching, scientific gaze, becoming more aroused by knowing Sherlock's attention and focus was entirely on him.

"Well,", Sherlock began, his attention away from the tide pools and entirely on John, "I'd assume that mermaid genitalia would be in the same place as humans', correct?". Sherlock was definitely flirting now, and the stab at sexual endeavors had to be obvious. He was just hoping that John wouldn't be too put off by it.

Oh, god. He just knew Sherlock was going to ask that. He blushed furiously and tried to clear the nervousness out of his throat before answering. 

"Y-yes, basically. All mer have a cloacael opening for p-penetration. But the male mer...well, our um, penis is..well, hidden. That is, it's... retractable. It only, um..comes out when we wish to engage in mating.". John's heart was beating so fast, he thought he was going to pass out. He continued attempting to hide said burgeoning erection.

Sherlock smirked and nodded. "Well, with humans, men usually try to hide an erection by folding their hands in their lap. Seeing as you were raised by humans, I can only assume...". He trailed off, letting the innuendo hang between them. He moved a bit closer, looking into John's glowing eyes. "John?".

John heaved a big sigh, breath shaking. "God, Sherlock.", he nearly groaned, shifting nervously, glancing at the detective, not quite able to look at him fully yet. 

"Yes, alright, you're right. I'm..", he started, hoping that he wasn't going to bollocks this up, "I'm sorry, I can't help myself.". 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before confessing, "I am...incredibly turned on by you right now.". He didn't make any further movements, just sat and waited for whatever was coming.

Sherlock was momentarily stunned, but quickly regained his composure. An unsteady hand reached out to touch John's wrist, long fingers wrapping around it. 

"John.", he said, his voice rumbling in his chest. Now. Now he could tell John. "John. Do you trust me?". He was pleading internally, "Do you trust us?". There. He said it. Shoddily, but he said it.

John held his breath when he felt Sherlock's hand take his wrist. Then, at the man's words, he turned and finally looked into those impossibly colored eyes. He found them holding emotions that he'd never seen in the younger man before. They were more open, vulnerable, hopeful, and also a little fearful. John felt his heart swell and he released the breath he'd been holding. 

"Yes.", he answered, confident and reassuring, "Yes, I do. God help me, you mad git, I do.". Grinning like an idiot, John unthinkingly removed his hands from his lap to grasp Sherlock's, which allowed his erection to extend fully, pink and glistening and free from its sheath.

Sherlock smiled at the touch, and his eye caught the pink flesh protruding from golden scales. Once again, he was calm, cool, collected, the Sherlock that was always in control. He moved his free hand to John's waist, where scale met skin. 

"Maybe,", he whispered, still holding John's hand and moving his other to John's erection. "We could do this at the hotel? Where we'd have more privacy?", he asked. 

His hand barely grazed the glistening limb and a whole new flurry of information was stored. Sherlock lowered his head to John's throat, looking to him for acceptance before pressing a chaste kiss to the tanned skin. It trailed from his companion's neck, to his jaw, and finally, after a moment's hesitation, his lips.

John breathing became more rapid as Sherlock spoke to him in that deep, velvety voice and his hand reached sneakily for his protruding erection. As those long slender fingers brushed against the sensitive flesh, John gasped sharply, then moaned as Sherlock pressed those plush, full lips to his throat. He let out a shakey, breathy moan when those lips traveled up to his own, and eagerly accepted the tentative kiss. He barely registered the words that were spoken to him through the haze of hormones and emotions.

"Sher-", John breathed between presses of their lips, "Sherlock...I..please, I don't think I can wait...need you now.". He grasped the detective's face in his hands and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss, slotting his tongue between those delicious lips. He also shifted closer, flexing his hips, pushing his straining hardness more into Sherlock's touch. 

"Please...there's no one around..". He was quickly loosing himself to the lust coursing through him, and the warmth pouring from his heart for this man.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mer/human sexytimes ;)

Sherlock grasped John's erection, his fingers twining and twirling and teasing. 

"John," he whispered, his face now burrowed in the crook of the blonde's neck. He moved his free hand to the back of John's neck, tugging at the hair he found there and kissing John deeply, hungrily, desperately.

John grunted in pleasure as those elegant fingers gripped his cock. 

"God, Sherlock..", he moaned on an exhale, running his hands over the detective's body. 

When their lips joined together hungrily again, John slipped a hand under Sherlock's shirt while pushing him onto his back and crawling on top of him, slotting his thick, muscular tail between Sherlock's legs. He rolled his hips slowly, thrusting into the tunnel made by the large, graceful hand of gorgeous man beneath him. Panting into his mouth, John slid his fingers to one nipple and rubbed and tweaked, trying to draw more delicious noises from Sherlock. 

Sherlock whimpered into John's kiss, his body feeling white-hot despite the cool water that lapped against them. He let his fingers roam over John in his hand, teasingly, and the hand on Johns' neck dropped down to his waist, nails digging in on instinct. He moved his head to trail kisses down to John's jaw, neck, collarbone, where he bit softly, sucked, licked, and moved again upward John's neck, behind his ear where he sucked a spot just behind the merman's ear. 

"John," he breathed, his voice leaving him for a soft moan.

John let out undignified noises at the wonderful things Sherlock was doing with his wicked mouth. He hissed at the pleasure/pain of the nails digging into his waist. He hastily pushed the material of the t-shirt up to Sherlock's underarms, immediately attacking the newly revealed skin with kisses and bites. He teased the pert, pink nubs of his nipples, suckling and biting, then reached lower to tug at the trousers in his way. 

"Get..get these off...have to have you now..!", John growled.

Sherlock turned a bright pink as he took of his trousers at a painstakingly slow rate. Once he was stripped down, the brunette took John back in an embrace and kissed him hungrily, gasping as they grinded together. 

"John.", he rasped, his voice low and husky. He wasn't the blushing virgin everyone thought he was, not even close, but John did have that way of making him feel like it. His skin flushed, and the sensations threatened to overload him. His nails once again dug into tan skin as he brushed against John again, and he let out a low moan. 

"Please..".

When the offending material was finally peeled away, John growled in relief of being able to see the gorgeous, untouchable Sherlock Holmes in all his glory, his cock long and slender, like the man himself. 

"Oh fuck, Sherlock...you're beautiful. I can't believe this all mine, at last.". He pressed closer to the man, their cocks rutting together. 

"Fuck...god, that's good...ohhh..". 

When Sherlock kissed him again, he was so drunk with lust and longing that they kissed rather sloppily, but oh it was glorious!

Sherlock moaned softly into the kiss, his hips bucking. 

"John, please," he breathed. Sherlock Holmes, begging to be fucked on a beach? It was a good thing no one here recognized them or was even here. He ran his hands down the front of his lover's chest and down to his cock, where he began to touch.

John groaned when his member was touched again. 

"What do you want, Sherlock? You want me to fuck you? Right here, in the sand and waves? Didn't peg you for a romantic.", he teased reaching to stroke the other man's cock as well.

"Only you, John.", Sherlock answered honestly. He arched his back and let out a pant as he felt John's hand slide down his body and stroke his cock. He took in a shaky breath and let out another low moan. 

"Jesus.", he panted.

John began to slowly slither his way down Sherlock's body, leaving a trail of bites and kisses in his wake. When he reached the detective's cock, John gave it a good long lick from base to tip, giving the glistening head that was peeking out from the foreskin a suckling kiss before moving lower. He gave the delicate bollocks a little oral attention, then placed his hands on Sherlock's quivering thighs to push them forward, closer into his mate's chest in order to gain access to his most intimate of areas. Lowering himself, his tail bent over and fluke fin hovering above him as he finally ran his tongue teasingly over Sherlock's perineum.

Sherlock moaned again, louder this time, as John took him in his mouth. He whined and whimpered under the other's touch, arching and making the funniest noises. Only John, he believed, could make him feel like the blushing virgin everyone believed he was. His hips bucked upwards and the sensation of John's tongue. 

"Fuck, John!" he gasped.

Every sound Sherlock made under his attention went straight to John's cock, which was aching for relief. He growled lowly as he gripped those perfect arsecheeks and spread them to gain better access to that delicious hole. He kissed and lapped and sucked eagerly for long moments, then pointed his tongue and slid it easily into the tight ring of muscle. He spent the next few minutes groaning hungrily as he tongued fucked Sherlock and ate to his hearts desire.

Sherlock groaned and nearly came right there at the feeling of John's tongue in him. 

"John.", he whispered. God, how he desperately wanted this man, and here he was being teased. Sherlock wasn't religious by any means, but he began praying that John would just fuck him already. 

"Please John!", he growled, moaning again as John's tongue slid into him once more.

Taking pity on the writhing, begging man, John gave one last teasing lick before shuffling back up and draping himself over Sherlock. 

"Just wanted to make sure that you're good and wet and open for me, babe.", he purred as his hand slipped down between Sherlock's legs and rubbed at his hole with a finger before slipping it inside.

Sherlock moaned and let out a shuddering breath, his arms draping around John's, holding him. He arched into the touch, biting his lip and letting his head fall back into he sand. This was out of his control, he was at the complete mercy of the man before him, leaving him the one to beg. He wanted to be had by John, wanted to feel them meld, to embrace, to love. And now he could. 

"John.", he whispered, his voice low, rumbling in his chest.

John added another finger and continued to purr filthy things in Sherlock's ear. 

"I dunno if you've ever been with anyone..but I bet you never expected to be making love with a merman on the beach.", he added a third finger, "Did you ever think about us..before? Us together?". 

With his medical knowledge John easily found Sherlock's prostate and gently massaged the sensitive gland.

Sherlock couldn't breath, let alone speak, and yet somehow he found the words. 

"More than I'd ever admit, John.", he whispered. He let himself relax in John's touch. "Did you ever think you'd...be here? In this position...with me?". 

He thought about this whenever the doctor did something amazing, called him brilliant, put up with his outbursts. And it plagued his mind after he did, wondering if John would ever feel the same.

"So many times...I'd hope we could be together...that we could kiss..and touch..and make love...", he trailed off as he kissed a trail from Sherlock's mouth along to his ear, nibbling on the lobe. 

"Mmm..you ready for me Sherlock? You ready for me to take you?", he growled.

Sherlock's heart leaped at the other's words, and his skin raised in goosebumps when John's teeth found his ear. 

"Just do it already, John.", he pleaded. He wanted to do this, more than anything. He was just waiting, their words hanging in the air for just the briefest of moments...

John chuckled softly in his ear, "So impatient.". 

He removed his fingers from the quivering hole and moved into position. "Here I come, luv...gonna fuck you so good..". 

John lined himself up and slowly pushed the head of his thick cock into Sherlock's warm, tight entrance.

Sherlock moaned and bit his lip, nearly collapsing in the sand at the sensation of John entering him. 

"Jesus, John.", he whined, nails once more digging into tanned flesh, "More.", he breathed, his breath coming in pants now. 

"Don't worry, Sherlock. I'll take good care of you.", John growled and thrust his scaly hips forward, inching in a bit more until his scales met the warm, soft skin of the detective's arse. 

John groaned at the nails digging into his skin. He took Sherlock's legs and wrapped them around his waist, feet brushing against his dorsal fins at his posterior. He lay over Sherlock, holding him close and capturing his mouth in a deep kiss.

Sherlock moaned again and kissed John back with matched fervor, his legs tightening around the other's waist. It was a strange yet welcome sensation, the feeling of John's glistening scales between his legs, pressed against his skin. He shuddered pleasantly at his touch, feeling John's nails dig into his skin as well. He hummed his content.

John gasped and groaned at the wonderful sensation of being buried inside his human lover, thrusting into the tight chamber of muscles enveloping his aching cock. 

"Ohhh...fuck, Sherlock...you feel..incredible.", he panted against Sherlock's kiss swollen lips, punctuating each syllable with deep thrusts into the trembling body beneath him.

Sherlock whined softly at each thrust, letting his head fall back in the sand. 

"John.", he breathed, not being able to say much else other than, "So...good...", which he said as well. His chest heaved with heavy breaths as he relaxed himself to give easier access to his lover.

John sped up his thrusts, pumping hard into his lover. He coiled his tail beneath him, using the strong muscles to rise up to thrust at a different angle, intent on hitting the other man's prostate. He held his upper body up on his hands, hovering over Sherlock. 

"Look at me, Sherlock.", he commanded, looking down at him intensely, love and desire burning in his eyes, "I want to look into your eyes when you come for me.", his voice deep and gravely.

Sherlock's eyes were magnetized on deep blue, glowing ones, and the naughty tone and words spilling from their owner made him ache with longing. He was close, and he could feel it. Both of them were. No longer was John pressed against him, but just above him, looking at him lovingly as he thrust into Sherlock, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. With a final cry of John's name, Sherlock came, and the waves washed away his spend.

John watched as the younger man gazed up at him, and knew from his panting and the desperate look in his eyes that he was close. 

"That's it..come for me Sherlock.". He grunted in pleasure as his lover came, the muscles of his anus constricting deliciously around him, the cry of his own name in that voice that drove him wild echoing in his ears. 

"Ohhh Christ, Sherlock..!", he all but shouted as he followed the detective, emptying himself deep withing him. After a moment, his flaccid member slipped out of Sherlock, his semen trickling out of the abused hole. John, still catching his breath, lay on the sand beside Sherlock, curling into his side. 

"Alright, Sherlock?".

Sherlock laughed shakily, not unlike the first time they had dinner. 

"You just gave me the best shag of my life, and now you're asking if I'm alright?". His laugh became heartier. "I swear, John, you are the most unpredictable man I've ever met." 

Smiling, he turned over and looked at John for a long time, trying to deduce if this was the end game, or just the beginning. 

"Will you regret this tomorrow, John?", he whispered, his voice barely audible against the crashing waves that lapped up against them.

John was glad that Sherlock enjoyed himself and didn't seem to regret what they just did. He was a bit disappointed to learn that he wasn't Sherlock's first, but decided that it didn't really matter. 

When Sherlock asked after his feelings, John reached over and took the other's hand, bringing it to his lips. 

"I could never regret you, Sherlock. Is..is it too early to be throwing around the 'I love you's'?", asked, somewhat nervously.

Sherlock let out a breath of relief through his nose. "No, John. I don't think so.". He cupped the merman's face. 

"I love you.", he breathed before pulling the older man in for a breathtaking kiss. "I love you.". He let his forehead rest on John's, smiling.

John smiled into the kiss, holding him close, his tail waving happily and brushing against Sherlock's legs. 

"I love you too, Sherlock. More that I can explain. You're an infuriating, insane, annoying dick a lot of the time, but you're also the best man, the most intelligent and clever, most extraordinary individual I've ever been lucky enough to have met.". 

Sherlock sighed happily, relaxing in the sand on the beach. 

"Do you want to stay in Ireland for the rest of the week? I mean, it'd be a perfectly good waste of holiday if we didn't." 

Sherlock was eager to experiment with this new relationship. Within boundaries of course, seeing what the other liked, disliked, what couple-y things that John enjoyed. He was only hoping the merman would be okay with it.

John smiled warmly. "Sounds like a brilliant idea.", he said, leaning back in for another kiss. 

"It's getting dark...what do you say we dry off, get back to the hotel and wash all this sand and sea smell off in the shower?", he purred suggestively.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back to the hotel for a sexy shower ;)

Sherlock smiled and nodded, noting the innuendo. Gathering their clothes, Sherlock moved farther down the beach to another and even more secluded bench to dry off. The lanky detective leaned against a large boulder and watched the waves roll out from sea onto the shore, letting the sound wash over him and relax him even more. The sun dipped low on the horizon, turning the dark water red where it's rays kissed as it sank. He smiled faintly, seeing a form he was quickly getting familiar with cut through the sea like a knife. 

"Beautiful,", he murmured to himself.

John allowed Sherlock to go ahead up the beach to get warm and dry, and crawled out of the reach of the waves. He grabbed his shirt and used it to help the fading sun and sea air to dry his tail. Soon his fins receded and his tail split and scales faded away, leaving him for all intents and purposes, human again. He pulled his shorts back on and carried his now wet shirt in his hand as he found Sherlock leaning against a large rock, basking in the sunset. "Ready to go, love?", he asked, smiling lovingly.

Sherlock's skin raised in goosebumps at the sound of John addressing him as "love", and nodded, grabbing his trousers and pants to pull them on before taking his shirt and slipping it back on. 

"Back to the hotel.", Sherlock chuckled as a peculiar thought crossed his mind. "I thought you weren't gay, and here you are on romantic holiday with your flatmate,", he said, still laughing.

John grinned as they walked back to the hotel, amused by Sherlock's presumption. 

"I said I wasn't gay. I never said I was straight. So where does that leave me?", John looked up at him pointedly.

Realization dawned upon Sherlock and he smiled at John. "Clever.". 

Holding his socks and shoes in one hand, the brunette hailed a cab with the other and waited for John to join him before asking the cabbie to drive the to the hotel. Sherlock wondered bemusedly what would happen once they reached the hotel...

John chuckled at Sherlock's expression, "And I thought you were 'married to your work'?", he teased. 

When they were in the cab, John sneakily reached across the seat and grasped Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together. 

Sherlock was temporarily alarmed at John's display of affection, but he quickly adapted and held the other's hand likewise, near instantaneously growing accustomed to the warm hand in his. He even ventured to scoot a fraction closer to John. What would be the couple-y thing to do in this kind of situation? Would John know? Would it be awkward to ask? Should he just assume what to do? These questions posed a problem and it showed.

John could see that Sherlock was struggling a bit with the new development in their relationship, at least anything outside of the sex. 

"Sherlock. Relax, darling. We're...dating now, essentially. If you want to be close to me, you can.". He looked at the detective fondly, squeezing their joined hands affectionately.

Sherlock blinked out of his haze at the word darling. He had to process the doctor's words before blushing and scooting closer to John. 

"I'm sorry,", he muttered, shaking his head and smiling shyly, "It's just that I've never really done this kind of thing before.".

He absently brushed a thumb along the other's hand. He felt embarrassed, almost. "And I'm not the biggest fan of public displays of affection, either.", he admitted.

John nodded in understanding. "So...what, no holding hands in public? Or even a little peck on the cheek?", he asked with maybe a hint of disappointment.

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, that's fine. I'd like that. But I always feel uncomfortable around people who just full on snog in front of everyone.". Was he doing this wrong? God, he felt so stupid right now.

"Oh, yeah. It is rather rude, isn't it?", John agreed, "I'd never be comfortable with that. Small public displays are alright.". He lifted their joined hands and kissed Sherlock's knuckles.

Sherlock smiled, and the cab pulled up to the hotel. Giving the cabbie some change, Sherlock joined John in front of the hotel, eager to see how events would unfold between them. He held John's hand as they walked back to the room.

\----

John's stomach fluttered with anticipation as they walked to their room, and as soon as they were inside, he pushed Sherlock up against the door and proceeded to snog him senseless. Once he pulled away, he tossed their things aside and dragged Sherlock by hand to the bathroom. He turned the taps on, then eagerly removed the remainder of their clothes, tearing off Sherlock's soggy shirt and snatched down his trousers and pants in one. He hastily removed his own shorts and stepped into the shower, pulling the detective along. 

"I know we just made love only moments ago Sherlock, but I have to have you again..".

Everything was a blur for the detective as his blogger pulled him this way and that. His mind finally caught up with his body, and he put his hands in front of him, stopping John. 

"My turn,", he said with a smirk as he pinned John against a wall and snogged him thoroughly, his head dropping down and his lips suckling on the other's neck. A dark red mark appeared as he pulled away, and he grinned at his handy-work. A slender-fingered hand moved from the blonde's chest to his hips to his length, and he wrapped his hand around it, stroking slowly.

A rush of burning adrenaline shot through John as the detective took control, groaning deeply as his once again hard length was teased and stroked by the long, skillful hands of his lover. His vague spattering of scales appeared under the fresh spray along with his webbing and gills. 

"Oh, god..", he gasped and swallowed, "Sherlock..".

"Hush,", he growled lustfully, bowing his head to nip at John's neck and collarbone. His lips found a patch of scales, and his tongue teased and tasted the smooth, gold armour. It was new and intoxicating, a different kind of want, a primal kind of lust. 

"John,", he said, his voice husky and dripping with want as he lifted the merman up and wrapped strong, tan legs around himself, "Do you want me to have you in this shower?", he asked, his voice low and soft, dripping with desire.

John moaned as that skilled mouth lavished attention on his neck and shoulder, that talented tongue teasing the patch of scaled skin on his chest. Suddenly he was lifted off his feet and into the arms of the apparently stronger than he looks detective. Legs wrapped tightly around that narrow waist, John draped his arms around Sherlock's neck and pressed close. Then he asked John if he wanted Sherlock to take him here and now...oh, gods...John wanted it, wanted it badly, his aching erection rubbing against those pale, tight abs...but through the haze of lust, he was able to recall a most vital piece of information. 

"Sherlock, god, I want it, I want you to, but...there's something I need to tell you...".

Sherlock hummed in question, his eyes wandering over the other's body, landing on the scar on John's left shoulder. His thumb brushed gently over the damaged tissue, admiring it and its owner. 

John hummed as Sherlock brushed his thumb adoringly over his big spidery scar, but he needed to get this out. 

"Sherlock, please...in my book I read..that male mer are hermaphroditic...we-we have both male and female reproductive organs...a male mer can impregnate a female and a male..", John had to catch his breath for a moment, and allow time for the first part of his explanation to sink in.

Sherlock locked this piece of information in John's room in his mind palace and nodded. Condoms, then. 

"Condoms, right? I think there are some in the drawer by the sink,", he said softly, not wanting to kill the mood. He blushed in embarrassment. "That is what you meant, right? And I'm not going about this the wrong way?".

John smiled almost drunkenly, kissing the beautiful man sweetly. 

"No, Sherlock. You're doing wonderfully. Yes, condoms would be good. But just as a precaution. I mean, I don't know if it applies to us, since we're not really the same species, but still..". He gave him another firm kiss before extracting himself from the tall man so that said condoms could be fetched.

Sherlock leaned against the back wall of the shower, watching John lustily as he retrieved the condoms, his groin stirring in anticipation and want. Once he put on the said condom, he lifted John back up and slowly brought the other's legs around his waist. He had John against the wall, biting, kissing, suckling at his neck again. He lined himself up with the merman's entrance and went in slowly, teasingly. He smiled lovingly at the dark blue, glowing, lust-blown eyes of his lover and kissing him passionately.

John watched Sherlock slip out to retrieve the condom, lazily stroking himself as he waited. When he returned, John's heart was racing as he was lifted up into Sherlock's arms again, caught in a breathtaking kiss as the other's long, lovely cock was eased into him, the stretch making him bite at Sherlock's plump bottom lip, groaning at the intensity of it.

Sherlock hummed a laugh and slid the rest of the way in, one hand wrapping around John's cock and stroking slowly. He eased out of his lover, and with no warning, thrust back in hard. He let a gasp escape from his own mouth and into John's. He bowed his head to bite at John's neck and collarbone, continuing his pattern of pulling out slowly and ramming back in.

John moaned for his attentive lover, clutching to him tightly. 

"Ahh! Sherlock!", he cried out in surprised pleasure as Sherlock thrust hard into him, "Uhhn..yes, Sherlock... just like that love, harder..", he groaned and panted as the man nearly pounded into him.

Sherlock shivered in pleasure at the sound of John's moans and pleas, and did as he was asked, thrusting in harder and continuing his strokes at a quicker pace. He sucked a dark spot into his blogger and nipped lovingly at the love-bite he left. 

"Jesus, John,", he breathed, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic.

John's nails dug into Sherlock's back as he was fucked hard and fast by the beautiful, sexy being that was Sherlock Holmes, and moaned harshly at the added stimulation of the mark being sucked onto the skin of his neck. He couldn't wait for everyone to see the mark, to know exactly what happened and who did it. 

"Fuck...Sherlock..!", he growled out in warning as he felt himself being brought to the edge.

Sherlock slowed his pace, but not his force, as he felt himself coming closer to the edge.

"John,", he said, his voice husky and low. He thrust in one final time and came with a low moan, continuing to please his partner until he followed.

John panted harshly as Sherlock drove them both to orgasm, the tall, gorgeous man erupting inside him, and John regretted that he couldn't be filled thanks to the cautionary condom, but he completed anyway, spilling between their bodies with a harsh cry, tightening his embrace around the slender young man.

Sherlock huffed and panted and post-orgasmic endorphin flooded his brain and body as he smiled absently to himself at John. He waited until his partner was relaxed enough to pull out and dispose of the condom. The warm water washed away the evidence of what had occurred between them, and Sherlock arched his back against the gentle spray of the shower head. The sex now brought back the pleasant aches in all the right places from the beach, and the brunette wrapped his arms around the ex-army doctor as he kissed the top of his head. 

"I never thought, only dreamed,", he murmured into the other's sandy-blonde hair, "That we would be like this. Together in any way other than blogger and detective.".

When John was set down onto the floor, he slumped against the cool tile wall, catching his breath as he watched Sherlock. He welcomed the post orgasmic embrace, holding his younger lover close and relaxing under the warm shower spray. He wanted to tear up as he listened to Sherlock's words, his heart warming at the affectionate kiss and shivered at the way that deep voice rumbled and reverberated through his body. 

"Oh, Sherlock...I feel the same. There have been times I would cry alone in my bed when I had convinced myself that you would never feel for me that way. And now...well, I feel like a bloody fool for it but, I feel like crying now, because you do, and we're finally together.". He blushed from the sickly romantic things that were spewing out of him uncontrollably, hiding his face in Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock smiled brightly, appreciating that his feelings were reciprocated. His hand rubbed soothing circles over John's back, and he pressed gentle kisses into his wet hair. 

"It's fine, John,", he murmured, "It's all fine.". He continued to rub circles, letting the warm water wash over them as his fingertips explored the gold scales that flecked the merman's body. They stayed like that for a while, until finally the water turned colder and Sherlock blushed. 

"Guess we'll have to wait to take a shower,", he said.

Sherlock's hand rubbing his back was lulling him to sleepiness. He hummed a chuckle when the water turned cold. 

"It's alright. 'M too tired anyway.", he yawned, emphasizing the point.

Sherlock hummed a laugh and shut off the water, leaving the half-asleep John in the shower for a moment to get the towels and dry off. Handing one to John, the detective grabbed his pajama pants and put them on quickly, draping his bath-robe over himself as he stood in the doorway of the bathroom watching John.

John roused himself enough to dry off, any and all evidence of his mer self vanishing. He tossed the towel into to hamper and strode out of the room, tugging on the belt of Sherlock's robe. 

"C'mon, love. I'm knackered.". He pressed a chaste kiss to the other's soft lips and made his way sluggishly to the bed, pulling back the duvet and sliding under, beckoning Sherlock to join him.

Sherlock smirked and hopped into bed beside John, lacing an arm around the smaller man's waist and kissing his shoulder softly. He felt content just to be there right now, and realized that when people say they're so happy they could die they mean that they could die right then and be content with their lives. And, despite hating sociability and the phrases that came with it, he found himself agreeing with them. 

"I love you, John," he whispered against tan skin.

John sighed happily, melting into the other's hold. For the first time in his life, John truly felt that he was happy. 

"I love you too, Sherlock. I'm so glad that we can finally lie together this way, in each other's arms, in love.". He rest his arm over the one wrapped around his waist and smiled as he felt sleep begin to overtake him. 

"Take off that blasted robe, Sherlock.", he muttered, "I want to feel you close to me.". John had wondered why he'd even bothered with one.

Sherlock pouted a bit before complying, saying, "I always sleep with my robe on.". 

John gave him an odd look. "Why? Well, not that I'd expect anything normal from you.", he teased, giving him a quick, sweet kiss before settling down to sleep.

After Sherlock discarded the apparently offending article, he placed his arm around John once more and rested his head on the blonde's shoulder. "Good night, love," he murmured as he turned off the light.

"Goodnight, darling.", John yawned and drifted off.

Sherlock followed suit, his eyelids becoming heavy as he drifted to sleep. His thoughts stirred as he dreamed, the visions blurring together in a bit of a pleasant manner. Thoughts and images of John, the smell of the older man next to him easing the dreams along. When he awoke the next morning, however, John wasn't next to him.


End file.
